I’ll never let go, Jack. I’ll never let go.
Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will.
listening to artic monkeys makes you feel like ur an attractive person
The 1975 have the type of lyrics you want tattooed on your body
mmmsn fhifh mvoifhi,c like chocolate ngdsb
if mermaids exist i hope they stay hidden because we’re just gonna end up killing them like we do everything else
Lucas ♥ Peyton Appreciation Week Day 5: Favorite hug(s) aka best hugs everrrr
Emma Watson attends Elle Style Awards 2014 on February, 18.
1. his hands stretch like cobwebs across my warm hips, and he buries his face in my stomach, slipping icy fingers under my shirt, wrapping his arms around my waist. he mumbles incoherent things about lunar eclipses and dragonflies and the way he loves that i know his chinese order from that place on state street. he worries that i’m not wearing shoes when i go across the street to buy him pizza, and he texts me things like the bed is too big without you and i miss you and i’m going to kiss you so hard when i’m with you
2. he kisses like jupiter when he’s drunk, big and messy and out of control and i drown in the way his hands touch my jaw. he speaks like the sun, boisterous and fervent, and i see amber comets in his eyes. he waves his hands a lot when he talks about hockey and women’s rights and i stand across the room and talk to his friends from his poly sci classes and watch the way his long fingers wrap around the bottle of beer and i have to physically hold myself back from going to him like a magnet to its partner, like the earth to the sun, orbitary and mesmerizing. he catches my eye and winks and his hands make an arc and he’s as big as the milky way, as big as the ursa major constellation
3. when he’s drunk, he sings lana del ray. his skin is flushed from vodka and his eyes glassy and he quietly hums young and beautiful as we fall asleep and he is, he’s young and he’s beautiful.
4. he develops a compassionate streak (he is always compassionate) and he refuses to drink the water i place in front of him because he wants to send it to the parched children in africa. i laugh and tap fingers on his knee and make him drink the water, falling in love as hard as i do every morning. how could you not be in love with someone like that, how could you keep your heart from splitting along its fault lines to make room for all that he is.
5. he still loves me when he’s drunk. i read poems about drunk fathers who beat their children, about husbands who are more in love with alcohol than their wives, and i look over at him and the way he’s drinking red wine out of that cup we got at that one restaurant. he feels me staring at him, looks up from the spaghetti he made for dinner, and his smile is stained ruby red and so affectionate that the distance from my seat to his feels like that of a desert three thousand miles wide. we touch feet under the table and even that gentle nudge feels like he’s saying i love you, i want you, i need you, don’t leave me.
"Money can’t make you happy"
WELL IT SURE AS HELL AINT GONNA MAKE ME SAD